The Real Moriarty
by Violet Butterflies
Summary: It might be a bit late for an alternative TGG ending. But I got the idea for this anyway. Mild mention of slash. Oneshot, expect no sequel. Rated T because I'm paranoid
1. Chapter 1

**A.N: I had an idea and it wouldn't leave me alone. I really hope you like it. Enjoy x**

"Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

Sherlock took out the gun and pointed it square between Jim's eyes. "Both."

John stared straight ahead of him, trying very hard not to panic. But Sherlock was here now and he would get them out.

Sherlock stared the enemy, observing the sadistic glee in his eyes that said he was loving this. John's eyes flicked to his friend, wondering why he wasn't doing anything. He was simply standing there, gun in hand and pointing straight at Jim. His eyes darted to John every couple of seconds.

Time stood still for about thirty seconds when suddenly, Sherlock lowered the weapon.

A million things ran through John's mind in that second but he simply widened his eyes as Sherlock nodded sharply. Jim nodded back, his eyes still bearing the psychotic gleam but, impossibly, he backed out of the door.

John focused his gaze on Sherlock, trying to read him as the brilliant detective had done so many times to him. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him and when he spoke his voice was icy, "come now, John, you know you can't read people the way I can." Then, almost like an afterthought he said, "and get rid of the bomb, oh don't worry, it won't detonate." John gratefully removed the coat and vest but continued to silently watch as his flatmate slowly made his way over to him. He stopped when there was a metre between them.

He looked at John but there wasn't familiar warmth in his eyes. They were cold and unforgiving. John was getting worried now. What the hell was going on? Sherlock opened his mouth and continued lazily, "oh, no doubt you're wondering what I'm doing. What's going on." He tilted his head a bit in a condescending way, "unless you figured it out, no?" Sherlock smirked at John's disbelieving expression but when he continued again his voice was cool, "that man was not Moriarty, John. He is a nobody who wanted a bit of fun." The disbelief disappeared from John's face and was quickly replaced by horror. Sherlock smiled, in a smug way and even though John clearly understood he drawled, "_I_ am Moriarty."

The way betrayal and hurt flashed in John's eyes only made him smile wider. John was looking at him as though he didn't want to believe it. "What's the matter, John? Are you shocked that the great Sherlock Holmes was the one behind those murders? Appalled that I lied to everyone?" He made no effort to hide his smugness as he added in a low voice "do you feel crushed to see your best friend isn't real? Just a mask used by a killer?" John shook his head, eyes squeezed shut, trying to make sense if it. "I'm not lying." Said the cold voice John wasn't used to. He looked at Sherlock again but this time he spoke. "But...but what about Lestrade? He said he knew you for- "Five years? Yes but not from the yard. He is one of my own men, very skilled at acting, too" Sherlock cut off, rolling his eyes. "Really, are you going to do this? There is no other explanation." The last part was harsh and he looked almost cruel as he spat "I am Moriarty, John. You can't explain it away, it is the truth."

John winced and took a step back but Sherlock, no Moriarty, just stepped forwards. That sadistic smile was back, " You can't get away from me. I know everything about you, you're so easy to read," he added mockingly, his eyes unnaturally bright. He kept going, "you loved him, didn't you? Don't lie to me, I know you did. Just a little bit."

John clenched his fists, anger beginning to rise. It was like somebody else was wearing Sherlock's face and saying these things, referring to Sherlock in the past tense as if he was dead. Maybe he was, the only remnant was the man in front of him who bore barely any resemblance to the brilliant man John thought he knew. Tears of anger and betrayal stung John's eyes but he refused to let them fall. Moriarty noticed, of course, and revelled in the fact that the man in front of him was starting to crack. "I told you once that I would do anything to keep from being bored," Moriarty smirked, "I don't think you realised just how far I was willing to go..." He paused there, seeing the effect his words were taking.

John was staring into the distance, the tiniest of tears trailing down his face. When he looked at Moriarty again his expression was so hurt that Moriarty couldn't help the twinge of emotion that rose at the sight of the man he had come quite close to. But he ignored it. John's voice was thick with emotion but still strong as he said quietly "I thought I knew you...thought you'd let me in and I was...that we were friends," he looked at Moriarty accusingly, "but now this and..." he trailed off, glaring at the man opposite. He wanted to punch him, but he couldn't bring himself to hurt the man he had thought was his best friend. Moriarty knew this and was taking advantage of it.

He scoffed, "sentiment. I told you it was a weakness but you didn't listen did you? Now look where its got you" Moriarty stepped closer and leaned in, his face a couple of inches from John's. He was narrowing his eyes to go with that awful new smirk of his, "You don't know what to do," he said softly, teasingly, "I can see the battle going on in your head. It's written all over your face. Turn me in to the police or leave me alone? Let your friend walk free or put the villain behind bars?" John's face became emotionless within a second and he shoved Moriarty away, "you're not my friend," he snapped.

Moriarty was mildly surprised. But then his face hardened and he stepped towards John again, the calm left his face as he looked at John with an expression that almost broke John. Hate. "No I'm not." He said frostily "But I know you won't tell the Yard about this." John scoffed, "and how would you know that?" He challenged. Suddenly Moriarty's expression softened and John was looking at Sherlock. He had a pleading look on his face that damn near broke John's heart. John knew he couldn't live with himself if that man went to prison, whether he was real or not. Moriarty's sneer came back as soon as it had left. He nodded at John's pained expression, "that's how I know," was all he said.

John looked at this man, who had tricked him, mocked him and couldn't be happier that he'd done it. Yet he still couldn't bring himself to hate him. Moriarty knew this and was taking advantage of it. "Well, John," said Moriarty with a tone of finality as he turned and started walking away, "as much as I'd love to stay here and watch you fall apart I have things to do, people to kill," he stopped and faced John once more, "Goodbye John," he said with a twisted smile.

He left the swimming pool and John could feel himself breaking down. He wanted to lose control over who he'd thought was his best friend, but only allowed one small tear to trace itself down his face. He took a deep breath, turned and left the swimming pool.

Jim had watched the entire scene unfold before him, hidden upstairs. When John left he turned to the detective, whose eyes were misty. "Very good Sherlock," Jim said smugly, "I almost believed you myself." Sherlock glared at him as he made no effort to hide his bitter tears. He ignored what Moriarty said, "Well, I did it," he said flatly, "now you keep your end of the deal. Leave John alone. Leave him alone and I'll join you" Moriarty arched an eyebrow, "Oh, I promise my dear. I'll leave Johnny alone" He tipped his head silently with his finger, turned abruptly and left Sherlock alone. Sherlock's eyes were still wet with tears. The unspoken statement was lingering in the air like the smell of chlorine.

_I will burn the heart out of you_

**A.N:I'm sorry :'(**


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N: How ironic that I would post this story as a oneshot and then write a sequel less than twelve hours later :) I couldn't leave the story where it was, I'm a sucker for happy endings. Enjoy x**

John fumbled with his keys, hands numb from the freezing air. He unlocked the door to 221B and stepped inside, shutting the door and leaning on it for a moment.

It had been four months since Sherlock had told him he was really Moriarty. John still couldn't quite grasp the knowledge that his brilliant flatmate wasn't coming home because he was out there in London doing God knows what.

He sighed, straightened up and started walking up the stairs. Mrs Hudson hadn't come out of her flat to greet him, so she must be out. She had taken the news of what happened with Sherlock almost as badly as John had. John opened the door to the sitting room to a sight that made him freeze on the spot.

For his former flatmate was standing in the middle of the room, waiting for him.

John felt his eyes widen. He didn't know how to react. Ringing the police would be a good move, but he was afraid they'd chuck his old "friend" in prison and he'd never see him again. He mustn't let that happen. It crossed his mind to punch the man but the look on his face was so worn out and tired looking that he knew he couldn't. The man looked a wreck, like he'd been beaten. John tried not to care.

"John," he said softly, stopping John's trail of thought. The detective was looking at him as if he knew John was thinking of attacking him. He twisted his hands together nervously.

John looked him in the eye, "Moriarty," he said with as much coldness as he could manage. The taller man winced and avoided John's eyes, looking as if he'd been slapped, but he shook his head. "No," he said quietly, "it's Sherlock."

John frowned, confused. The last time they spoke, Sherlock had told John he was Moriarty and everything else was just an act. He'd mocked John and walked out like he'd just won an award. John had been devastated and it had taken him days to leave the flat again.

"What do you mean?" he asked, not as coldly as before. Sherlock swept over to his old chair and sat down lightly, gesturing at John to do the same. John stubbornly remained standing and stared at him, silently demanding an answer. Sherlock sighed but didn't push it, even he knew better than that.

"I expect you're confused as to why I said all those things to you at the pool-" John cut him off crossly, "_Confused_? I was bloody gutted and you know it. You told me it was all a lie and that you were Moriarty. You looked at me as if you couldn't stand me. You walked out of there like you were proud that I was completely losing myself because of you." John's voice cracked a bit on the last few words but swallowed and looked at the man, "how do I even know you're not just back to do it again? To pretend you're him and catch me off guard?"

When Sherlock looked him in the eye again John saw guilt and shame all over his face. John knew he was being sincere as Sherlock shook his head, "I'm not trying to trick you John," He said flatly, "Just hear my out, please?" He added with a hint of desperation. John relented and sank slowly into his chair with a small sigh. Sherlock relaxed and began to explain.

John listened patiently as Sherlock told him how Moriarty had threatened to kill him if Sherlock didn't join him, told him he had to lie to John before he would believe he was truly changing sides. Sherlock suspected he actually did it to show how at his mercy the detective was. He told him how he had to aid the consulting criminal in more than a few crimes to gain his trust, and how he planned to bring him down. How he succeeded in killing Moriarty by shooting him in the heart.

However, he did not tell John about how Moriarty had realised his plan before he could put it to action. How he'd had him beaten up by two men while he watched and he'd told Sherlock that once he was dead he was going to kill John.

That was all Sherlock needed before he snapped. Moriarty was dead before he even realised Sherlock had a gun.

As Sherlock finished talking, he noticed John was staring at him as though he was a patient. He realised John knew he was hurt and there was no point in denying it. John narrowed his eyes, "I'm still mad at you," he said firmly, "but its obvious you've been hurt and need my help, so I won't say anything. For the moment," he added briskly. Sherlock' mouth twitched in a small smile as his flatmate rose to make tea and get a first aid kit. He knew his non-spoken apology had been accepted.

He knew John would always forgive him.


End file.
